Letters Home
by redheadleela
Summary: A small piece of what would happen if the reunion went a little wrong.


The below in italics are the words from the end of the song 'violence' by Blink 182, and they originate from a letter written in WWII from a soldier to his girlfriend back home, and this is the inspiration for the following little Sherlock fic.

Also I have written this deliberately ambiguously so that it can be read as Johnlock or just as a friendship fic. Enjoy and please leave me some feedback if you have time.

_My dearest_

_i've missed you very very much since that last night we were together_

_and I will hold that night especially in my memories for years to come_

_I've been turning it over and over in my mind lately_

_I've read your letter through at least four times i'll probably read it more times before i'm through_

_i've been sitting here looking at your picture getting more homesick every the minute_

_i've wanted that picture more than anything else I know of except of course you yourself_

_I keep thinking of you darling_

_keep wishing I could be home with you_

_I want to leave in the worst possible way so I can come home to see you but_

_things dont look so good on that subject_

_but this war has spoiled a lot of things for everyone i guess_

_I have never been so lonesome in my life as I am right now_

_I am completely lost without you darling_

_I never realised I could miss any one person so much_

_I just hope it wont be too much longer until i'm able to be with you again and live a sane and normal life_

Life is cruel, that much is obvious. The way me and Sherlock were separated for so long by Moriarty's twisted web was bad enough. I honestly believed he was gone, that Sherlock was dead, and it broke my heart. I blamed myself and took a long time to even begin to live again, without him. So that's how I found myself preparing to leave Baker Street 2 years and 9 months after The fall. I was rearranging the few pieces I was taking with me in my kit bag and was expecting to hear Mrs Hudson arrive any minute. She knew I was going of course, although she'd said she would keep the flat for me... I don't know how she could afford to do that, although I suspected it had something to do with a certain British government official. I had said my goodbyes to Lestrade and Molly the night before, a few pints in the pub, nice and quiet and normal. I looked up as I heard footsteps in the hall, 'strange' I thought, 'that's not Mrs Hudson, the footfalls are too heavy...'

So that's how I came to be stood, hands buried in my kit bag, slight frown marring my face as I looked up to see the face I had thought I'd never see again.

"Hello John."

"Sherlock?"

He took three steps towards me, and sighed, "I'm so glad I caught you. When I heard you were deploying tomorrow..."

I closed the distance between us and wrapped him in a hug. I held him tightly hoping that my arms could convey even half of what I wanted to say to him.

"Watson!"

I jumped from my seat, "Sir."

"They need you in the clinic." I sighed lightly, and put away my writing supplies, my letter home would have to wait.

3 hours and a lot of gore, and thankfully one shower later, I slumped back onto my bunk. I took a moment to file away the memories of the last few hours, somewhere safe in my head, where they couldn't harm me.

I rose again and pulled out the letter from Sherlock and smiled as the photo he had included slipped into view. I can only assume somebody else nudged him into sending it, my guess would be Lestrade, as its a photo that was taken at a crime scene. A wonderfully unguarded moment, in which me and Sherlock had been laughing together. We never did master the art of not giggling at crime scenes. I looked at the photo of us, together and happy, and realised that it was probably my most valuable possession.

I set out my paper in front of me and set about considering what to write. I wanted him to know that I missed him, and that I was safe. I thought of joking about how I would have sent him a souvenir but the morgue was too closely guarded. I wanted to find a way to tell him to look after himself, and to remember to eat, but without sounding like a nagging parent (or God forbid, Mycroft!) .

Sherlock is the only person I write to regularly, I send Harry the occasional note, but she doesn't reply so I don't count that. So I wanted him to pass on my greetings to other people, namely Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, also Mike if he saw him. Molly? Well that's a different matter entirely! Sherlock had told me the night he returned about how the deception had been managed and what Molly's part in it had been. I'd not had chance to speak to her again before I left, which is probably a very good thing considering how angry I was. Maybe when I next have some leave, and am back in London I'll see her, and by then I will have forgiven her, maybe.

But actually getting Sherlock to relay messages was a dangerous system indeed, as he seemed to deem most of the social ephemera as 'deletable' as soon as he had taken it in. He did seem to succeed about half the time, so I knew he was trying.

In his last letter he had expressed that he wished that I 'could come home somehow', so I also needed to include some form of warning in the frame of 'be careful what you wish for'. Sherlock never believed in fate or luck, and I was much the same for many years, but after being injured on my last tour of duty and then the unfortunate timing of Sherlock's return... well I was inclined to be careful. Though I think to some degree Sherlock was thinking along the same lines as he always ended his letters with 'stay safe John'.

I try not to remember too vividly that last night together as it tends to make me miss him all the more. Sometimes though the memory comes to me so strongly that I can't push it away, and at those times, so my fellow medical staff tell me, I blush furiously.

"Writing to that friend of yours, are you?" I started at the sound, Captain Mason looking at me with his typical cheeky grin on his face.

"Yeah I am, how...?" I stopped half way through the question realising I had a blank envelope and paper out in front of me.

He nodded, "Yeah 'cos of the supplies, but really its 'cos of the look you get on your face."

I frowned, "What look?"

He shook his head, laughing slightly, "Don't get me wrong, its nothing bad." He seemed to stop and consider for a moment, "It's just, you look so far away, and so peaceful." He shrugged.

I smiled at him, "Yeah, I suppose when I'm thinking of home, it calms me in a way nothing else can."

It was only as Mason walked back out of the room that John realised that to him, 'Home' was Sherlock.


End file.
